


Another Year of You

by MicheleBlack



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, M/M, One Shot, POV Oliver Wood, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Quidditch, Secret Relationship, Sex, Sexual Content, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28869903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MicheleBlack/pseuds/MicheleBlack
Summary: Oliver thought he knew Marcus better than anyone, after all Marcus was the only one who could match him on and off the field. But he never expected this.
Relationships: Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood
Comments: 15
Kudos: 68





	Another Year of You

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:  
> I always wondered about Marcus’ anger and what it must have felt like to discover he had to redo his seventh year. This could have easily been a PWP but I think enough plot stuff snuck in here to make this a true one-shot. Thanks to WeakRevolution for leading this ficlet to victory.

**_“Note that wood and flint are both materials that can be used to start fires.”_ **

**-hp-lexicon.org; Oliver Wood Etymology**

**Summer before Seventh Year**

**End of July, 1993**

“I…”

“Yes?” Oliver turned his head to look up at Marcus. 

No matter how many times Oliver used his given name, in his mind or out loud, it still felt like something new - a gift entrusted to him. It was slightly strange still, even though he'd been calling him Marcus for over a year now. But what it really was was a mark of how much animosity had once been between them.

Though Marcus may not show it on the outside, the person he was on the _inside_ was like this precious secret only Oliver got to see and only when Marcus decided to open up to him. He wasn’t even sure the other boy was aware when he was doing it, but those moments were special to him.

A whole month had passed since he’d seen him, it being the summer and all, and Oliver had been going a bit mad. A full thirty days since Marcus had replied with a grunt to the quiet, discreet goodbye Oliver couldn't resist giving as they got off the train, unsure what would happen from there and when they would see each other again. With Marcus having graduated Hogwarts, he’d be moving on without him as Oliver always knew he would. He’d made some peace with it in the early days of summer, the fact that Marcus would be gone during Oliver’s final year. Their rivalry wouldn’t be missed by anyone else, but Oliver knew Marcus made him better.

A better quidditch player, a better leader, and a better wizard.

But standing there on the windswept, makeshift Quidditch pitch in the middle of Wizarding London, it felt like it had been _years -_ decades even - since Oliver had seen Marcus and the other boy’s sharp eyes that tracked Oliver’s every move. 

It was like they were suspended there. A moment in time that Oliver wished, through his aching exhaustion, that he could bottle and bring with him into his seventh year.

Time always got muddled when Marcus was involved. In fact, time had all but warped right out existence when Oliver had gotten Marcus’ hastily scrawled owl the day before: 

_Quidditch. Useual London pitch. 4pm. tommorow. -MF._

Reading it hadn’t taken long, but he had stared at the words written in Marcus’ slanted scrawl for a long time, absorbing them. Bloody hell, the spelling wasn’t even _correct,_ and a declaration of love it was not, but the owl had been just so _Marcus_ it had filled Oliver with such an unexpected excitement that left him needing to remember to breathe. 

It was that combined with the prospect of training again with the other boy, having the challenge of going up against someone who matched him on every level, that had kept him up all last night. Unable to sleep as adrenaline had coursed through his veins like an injection of Pepper-up Potion and his heart had threatened to take flight right out of his chest.

Oliver hadn’t been prepared for just how much he would miss Marcus until this moment. The simple thought of playing beside him, flying next to him, threatened to kill him with how much he wanted to train with him again. 

It was the first time Marcus had talked to him since school let out. Granted during their practice match today they hadn’t actually _talked_ much. Instead they had spent time flying around the pitch at a grueling pace, especially since Oliver was a little out of shape, having let his training regimen lag slightly over the past month. In the end the match had been sweaty, exhausting and exhilarating, which was everything Oliver had missed about practicing with the dark-haired Chaser. 

Now they stood on the field, their two-hour practice session behind them. Even through the aches in his body and the need for a long shower, Oliver felt alert as he watched as Marcus sucked in his bottom lip and bit down, hard. Normally a move like that would make Oliver _feel things,_ but when the other boy finally released it it looked red, split, and painful, and Oliver wanted to pull out his wand and heal it.

But he couldn’t, not that Marcus would even welcome it, because Oliver was still underage. 

_Stupid law,_ he thought as he restrained himself, looking into dark brown eyes that seethed like boiling black tar pits. Something was clearly the matter. Oliver wondered how long Marcus would take to tell him _what_. If the other boy even would. If he would trust Oliver enough to come clean. 

Oliver kicked the ground absentmindedly. He hoped it was just some stupid conflict, like they would sometimes have in school. Well he didn’t want the issue to be with _him,_ obviously. Not this time. He thought back but couldn’t think of anything he had done to upset the former Slytherin. Oliver hoped it would be something that Marcus just needed to vent about. It wouldn’t be the first time something minor set him off. Marcus had always had anger issues, but over the years Oliver had learned how to manage them.

But the way Marcus was looking at him now was concerning. It wasn’t just simple anger, no, there appeared to be another layer of upset that even their exhausting workout hadn’t managed to break. 

Oliver fought every instinct to step closer and offer comfort. A tender warm hand might be what _he_ would need, but years on he knew that wasn’t the key to get Marcus Flint to talk. Oliver knew he needed to hold his ground and simply _wait_ if he wanted to get the story out of the dark-haired man of relatively few words. 

Not that they needed words all the time. 

And in any event Oliver would wait. He would wait as long as he could. And not just because he had to figure out what was going on, but because he wanted to be there for Marcus when whatever it was finally came out.

Time passed, the two of them looking at each other, Marcus searching his face as if looking for something before he opened his mouth.

“I failed all my N.E.W.T.s.”

The words came out so softly Oliver almost didn’t hear them. Then it took a beat for them to process. His brain tried to grasp the meaning of Marcus's words, but he couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around the very idea of failing all N.E.W.T.s, shorting out at the concept.

 _“What?”_ he asked on an intake of breath, concern and disbelief swirling inside of him.

“Yeah, you heard me,” Marcus snapped out. “Don’t make me repeat it.”

Silence descended as a powerful gust of wind swept across the field - Oliver felt it push his hair around. He ran his fingers through it in an attempt to call it to order, but it was already messed up from their day of training. Though now he knew why Marcus had pushed them both so hard earlier on the pitch. He’d thought in passing that it was all about the upcoming league tryouts - never did he think it was _this._

“I won’t.” Oliver swallowed. “So, what are you going to do?”

“My _mother,”_ Marcus spat out the word like it was something vile, “talked to Dumbledore.”

There was silence again. Oliver shuffled his feet, unsure how to calm the other boy. Normally a good fly was enough to drain the frustration out of them both. That had been their go-to in the beginning. They used to fight and then fly. Then Marcus had changed up the playbook and some days instead of flying they would-

“FUCK!” 

Oliver looked up.

“Redoing fucking seventh year. What the _fuck_ does that say about me, Wood?”

Oliver took a deep breath. “That you couldn’t stay away from me?” he tried, hoping to make the situation lighter, or at least somehow slightly better for the Slytherin. And not to call attention to the negative, his mind whirling on how he could make this negative into a positive. With his mind preoccupied, he didn't spare a thought to his next words, "Plus you know I like it when you call me by my name. It's Oliver, remember?" The reminder rolled off his tongue, and he inwardly cringed immediately. 

“Fuck - I can’t even get that right,” Marcus grumbled out, chastising himself. Oliver suddenly felt _awful,_ and he knew he had to fix it. He took a step closer as Marcus yelled in an exasperated voice, “Do they even fucking have eighth year dorms for fucking MORONS like me?”

“First of all,” Oliver said, holding up a finger, “you are not a moron. Your talents are just elsewhere. Nobody plays like you do. Even for a Slytherin.” He smiled slightly at his joke and gestured to the field as Marcus scowled. To make it even clearer just how sincere he was, Oliver quickly decided to add in another truth - one they both knew to be true. “You fucking give me a run for my money.” Oliver watched as the corners of Marcus’ lips turned up just slightly, and he took it as a small victory. “And B,” he continued, held up another finger, “you’ll likely get a dorm room all to yourself.” _And you know what that means,_ the thought came easily, but he held his tongue on it. Instead he looked at Marcus meaningfully and watched as the other boy’s eyes softened.

“Let’s go again?” Marcus asked, appearing to have calmed down slightly, as he gestured to his broom.

Oliver felt a stirring inside himself, despite the seriousness of the situation. He wasn’t sure if Marcus meant flying or something else. It usually ended in something else, though they’d come very far from Marcus slamming him against the wall in the Quidditch showers that first time, pinning him there, claiming him before he’d even admitted to himself what he wanted. Back when Marcus was still _Flint_ and Oliver was _Wood,_ and they both hadn’t even really known what was happening except for the undeniable fact that they wanted _more._

Sometimes Oliver still felt like it was a dream, completely surreal, how his life went from fantasies to reality without him having to lift a single finger. 

_That was magic._

Still, they refused to acknowledge it publicly. The Gryffindor, Slytherin rivalry made it nearly impossible anyhow. Even as they spent more time together. Even as they started to become more than-

“Move it, you _fuckin-”_ Marcus took a step towards Oliver.

“Don’t you fucking start with me,” Oliver said, holding his hands up. “If you have to get it out, get it out. But don’t blame it on me.” He knew he had to stand his ground. He’d long learned that it was the best method of dealing with things where Marcus was concerned.

He had well over six years experience after all.

Two years of which they had been fucking.

_And he was about to get a chance at a third._

Perhaps that thought shouldn’t have been as exciting to him as it was. Just mere minutes ago he’d been happy as he could be for Marcus graduating, going out into the world. Or so he’d been telling himself all summer, even when thoughts like _he’s leaving me behind_ would nag at the back of his mind before he’d drift off to sleep without hearing a word from the other boy. Until yesterday...

Okay, so perhaps he wasn’t as selfless as he wanted to be.

Without warning Marcus slammed into him, shoving Oliver to the ground. The wind was knocked out of him as he hit the soft grass, and Oliver barely caught his breath before Marcus’ lips covered his own - bruising, desperate, and wanton. They swallowed Oliver whole and made him feel so small, so fucking _wanted -_ the force of the other man’s lips on his only serving to excite him more. _This_ was the Marcus he knew, the one no one else got to see. The man who kissed with so much force that it felt supernatural, the feeling plunging them both into their own secret world where no one else could find them.

Abruptly the kiss stopped. 

The harshness in the lines of the Slytherin’s face had vanished, lines Oliver hadn’t even noticed were present until Marcus no longer wore them, as sharp eyes studied him before the other leaned down on top of Oliver and tucked his head into the crook of Oliver’s neck. He wasn’t light, but Oliver found he didn’t mind the weight as the length of Marcus’ hard dick pushed purposefully against his leg and his face buried deep into Oliver’s side. He thought he felt a dampness on his skin, but there was no way in hell Marcus would be crying… _right?_

Oliver raised his hand and ran it through dark wind-knotted locks. It was meant to be comforting and he didn’t consciously think about the movement until Marcus started talking.

“Of course I couldn’t stay away from you.” The words were growled and Oliver froze his hand, even though he could feel the anger wasn’t at him. And somehow, beneath the obvious frustration, there was a thread of sincerity behind those words - a promise that felt bigger than having to repeat a single school year. Oliver reveled in that feeling, his hand slowly resumed carding through the knots in the ebony hair, as Marcus continued talking. “Like I fucking failed on fucking purpose,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm, along with frustration and anger, “Just like my fucking _father_ thinks. Serves him right, his bloody idiot faggot son wouldn’t fucking gradua-”

Oliver turned his head and shut Marcus up with a forceful kiss. Pulling away he looked into eyes that spoke volumes of upset, showing an anger turned inward. Ever since they had started sleeping together, in the two years since the day Marcus had unexpectedly cornered him with a blow job in the showers, neither of them had really spoken of his family or anything overly personal. 

The in-depth conversations they’d had were about Quidditch. There was the rare exception of course, the day when Flint had asked Oliver to call him Marcus was of note. But other than that their conversations usually didn’t involve words at all. Usually they involved flying for hours instead, which usually ended up with them shagging into oblivion, saying all that needed to be said with their bodies. So this was somewhat new territory, but Oliver was nothing if not brave.

“Listen to me,” Oliver said forcefully. “You are not a moron. Or a bloody idiot. And you did not fail on purpose. I _watched_ you try. I-” 

Marcus tried to interrupt but Oliver covered his mouth with his hand, feeling the other man surrender under his stern touch. Usually it was Marcus who was the forceful one, but right now Oliver knew he needed to have some sense knocked into him and this was the best way to accomplish it. 

Defiance blazed in Marcus’ eyes, but Oliver held the gaze. He couldn’t explain how, but he knew he’d win this time. Then the moment came when the fire in those eyes burned out, and he watched as Marcus reluctantly surrendered. _He was ready to listen._ Oliver knew that change well from when they would argue on the field. Except this time, Oliver was going to offer the voice of reason to make him see sense.

"Do you think an idiot could get a Quaffle past me? I wouldn't fucking lose to an idiot and _you_ bloody well know that.” He emphasized ‘you’ because Marcus did know that and he was going to make him see sense. “And furthermore,” Oliver plowed forward like he was knocking a Bludger out of the air, “just because you didn’t do well last time, doesn’t mean you can’t do better this time.”

“What’s the fucking difference?” Marcus asked around his hand. It sounded like “hat he fucging iffence,” but Oliver knew what he was asking all the same.

“The fucking difference,” he said, removing his hand slowly and looking into Marcus’ eyes, “is that we’ll be doing it together.”

He watched as Marcus’ eyes narrowed. Okay, perhaps that had been a tad more… romantic than they’d ever planned or committed to, but it felt right to say. They _would_ be doing it together this time - the same homework, the same tests, more Quidditch-

“Why the fuck would you want that?” Marcus grumbled out, “Everyone is going to know I’m a failure. Why associate with me?”

 _Trust a Slytherin to ask that,_ Oliver thought, bitterness filling his mouth, but he knew it was best to leave that part unsaid. At least for now. He could show Marcus what he was to him later. But now wasn’t the time.

“We can keep it a secret still,” Oliver rushed out. He found he truly didn’t mind the idea. Especially if it meant he didn’t lose Marcus. The thought of letting go of their forceful kisses, the passionate fucking that kept happening, was more painful than the thought of keeping them on the down-low. After all they’d been doing it for years anyway, it wasn’t like they couldn’t fend off the rumor mill for another year. “If you want. Whatever. Fuck _Marcus,_ two years of this and you still don’t get it?”

That wasn’t really fair, since Marcus had started _whatever this was,_ but Oliver felt so strongly he couldn’t let it die.

“We’re rivals, you bloody idiot.”

Oliver let out a laugh. “What the fuck are you talking about? We haven’t been _rivals_ for years.” He couldn’t even picture the dark haired boy as a rival anymore - even on the field they were now simply competitors. _And good ones at that._ “If we ever were.”

“Shut up.” 

Two words but Oliver knew he’d won. “Make me,” he challenged.

Marcus’ lips crashed into his again and Oliver suppressed a groan. His cock sprang back to life in his shorts as Marcus ground his hips down forcefully - pinning Oliver into the ground like he was his to claim. And on some level he was. Oliver pressed up just as vigorously into the hard body against him, loving the weight of the other man above him, the strong press of his lips, the way his fingers, calloused from hours of Quidditch, pressed into him. Claiming him.

If he was honest with himself, it was always about being claimed by Marcus Flint. Even from the beginning and, if he really let himself think about it, even before they were fucking, Marcus was the only one that had ever made Oliver Wood feel like he truly fit. That he wasn’t crazy for loving Quidditch more than anything. That someone else out there in the world understood and played on his level, as if they’d been made to go head-to-head on and off the field.

Above him Marcus grunted as he trailed his hand low, without breaking the kiss, to the waistband of Oliver’s practice shorts. He made short work of the fabric and jock strap beneath, wrapping his hand firmly around Oliver’s length and pulling up, as he pressed his own cock down to grind on Oliver’s thigh. Oliver let out a gasp at the sensation, throwing his head back as the tight pleasure consumed him. Marcus was palming him off in the middle of the Quidditch field in central London. He groaned at the thought.

“You love that, don’t you?” Marcus grunted in his ear. “You like when I grab your fucking cock and get you off.”

 _More than anything,_ Oliver thought, but he couldn’t confess that so he just nodded, not trusting himself to speak as pleasure coursed through him.

“Good boy,” Marcus muttered before biting the shell of his ear. Oliver let out a squeak. “So fucking good.”

Marcus continued to jerk him as he kissed him again, his mouth claiming Oliver’s, bruising his lips, and Oliver loved every second of it. Marcus was totally in control, and Oliver felt like he could melt away under the pleasure.

 _“Fuck,”_ Marcus moaned as he pressed himself into Oliver’s leg harder, humping and palming him faster. “You want me to fuck you in the middle of this field, don’t you?”

Oliver felt his throat run dry at the thought of Marcus behind him, _thrusting into him,_ and he nodded, not wanting the dirty talk to stop. His fantasies of being held down by Marcus, fucked by him, had long since come true, but they still felt like a dream he’d conjured up. Like there was no way they could be happening outside of his mind. And yet, somehow, every time, they ended up just like this, desire consuming both of them so naturally it was hard to believe there was a time where they hadn’t done this.

“Yeah, you love when I fill you up,” Marcus continued to tease, his voice dirty in Oliver’s ear. “Stuffing that boy pussy full over and over.”

A shiver went down Oliver’s spine and he could feel his heart race as he surrendered. _Damn that sounded so sexy._ He never got tired of having Marcus like this - whispering dirty talk in his ear - getting him so fucking _hot._

“Or maybe I’d rather you suck me off. Put my dick in your mouth and fuck your face.”

The idea of Marcus using his mouth made Oliver’s already rock hard cock jump. 

“Yeah.” Marcus’ voice was softer now, more tender somehow. “You like the idea of sucking me off.”

It was not a question but Oliver answered anyway, his voice breathless with need, “Yeah. You taste so fucking good.”

“Remember the first time you sucked me off?” Marcus was practically whispering in his ear now as he teased the tip of his cock with his fingers. Oliver strained upwards to get more contact, but was pushed back down as Marcus continued to tease. “You weren’t scared at all. Pulling me into that classroom in the middle of the day. Fucking Gryffindor.”

“Yeah,” Oliver said as he felt his breath catch, remembering that day in the abandoned classroom. How hot Marcus had been, towering over him and filling his mouth. “Your fucking Gryffindor.”

“My fucking Gryffindor,” Marcus amended, without a hint of malice, and Oliver’s heart soared for a moment. Marcus took his hand off his cock and moved it to the hem of his own shorts, pulling them down and exposing his long cock. Thick and girthy and with a slight bend to the left that somehow managed to hit Oliver’s prostate with every pass whenever he fucked him.

He suddenly longed for it to be inside.

But Marcus had other plans, pushing himself up towards Oliver’s face he moved his cock just over the waiting mouth. “Suck me,” he commanded, “make me cum as hard as you did that day.”

Oliver stuck his tongue out and gave a tentative lick at the length before swallowing as much as he could. Marcus tasted like salty sweat, but the smell and taste of him only excited Oliver more as he sucked.

“Yeah, like that, baby,” Marcus moaned., “Make me cum harder than you did that day. I know how much you love a challenge.”

 _Fuck,_ if that wasn’t a bloody turn on nothing was and Oliver hated to lose. Moving to take more of him in, Oliver moaned around Marcus’ cock, tasting the precum as the other man started fucking his face, hitting the back of his throat. His mouth felt so full as he worked his tongue around the girth, sucking with every skill he possessed, feeling pleasure mix with the thrill of doing this outside, where anyone could see that Marcus was claiming him.

Sex with Marcus, no matter how they did it, always felt so incredible. _It was the next best thing to flying,_ Oliver thought as he felt the pressure build in his groin. _It might even beat flying._ His cock pulsed at the thought and Oliver wanted to reach down and stroke it, but that would mean moving his hands from Marcus - the feeling of Marcus’ skin and the taste of Marcus’ cock and precum, combined with the intoxicating smell of his balls below, was overwhelming. He didn’t want to stop touching, stop sucking, so he kept taking Marcus in deeper. The feeling of him hitting the back of his throat made him groan, the vibrations reverberating in his head as he fixated on sucking Marcus.

It was exhilarating, the feel of Marcus’ cock balls-deep in his mouth, and without warning Oliver felt his own balls tighten up under him as he started spilling his cum all over himself, cumming unexpectedly without even being touched. He could do nothing but moan as the sudden sensation racked his body, shorting out his nerves as it pulsed from his core.

 _That was new,_ Oliver thought but didn’t fight it as his orgasm claimed him. He hadn't cum that easily since his early fumbling days. _Must have been all the dirty talk - fuck that was hot._

“Did you cum for me, baby?” Marcus smiled down at the white ropes of cum on Oliver’s shirt. Oliver felt Marcus’ cock grow even harder in his mouth, tip leaking, filling his mouth with a salty tang. While he sucked, Oliver reached down to spread the cum on his fingers. Satisfied he cupped Marcus’ sexy, sweaty balls, spreading his spunk there, before moving his index finger of his other hand behind them toward the smooth, warm path to his asshole.

“You bloody Gryffindor,” Marcus grunted out as he continued to fuck Oliver’s face. “Think you can have my asshole?”

Oliver hummed a “yes” around Marcus’ shaft and let his mind run wild. He rarely topped, but as far as he was concerned he was the only one who _could_ have Marcus’ asshole. He grabbed his ass as if to say ‘mine’, mouth too full to say it aloud, so he settled for tracing his tongue along the underside of Marcus' cock as he pulled back his and reconnected it with an audible slap.

“Don’t think I won’t punish you for that later,” Marcus said, and Oliver smiled around his shaft. He didn’t think he’d mind the punishment at all. Maybe Marcus would tie him up. That had been fun the couple times they’d tried it. He felt his cock start to harden again at the thought.

Without warning a tender hand pushed Oliver back from Marcus’ cock. Reaching down, Marcus scooped up some of Oliver’s cum that remained on his abs and hadn’t soaked into shirt. Oliver watched as, without a word, Marcus started rubbing the cum all over the head of his penis, until Oliver’s cum was dripping down every part of his cock.

Transfixed by the display, Oliver shoved the cum-covered cock back into his mouth. The taste of his own cum hit him first followed by their combined flavors, which was intoxicating. He was rock hard again. Reaching down to tug at his own cock, Marcus slid in and out of his mouth - each thrust forcing Oliver to swallow gobs of his own salty cum mixed with Marcus’ precum and he greedily ate it all up. Humming with contentment he moved his free hand back down to play with Marcus’ balls. They were soaked with cum and spit and felt soft and slippery under his touch - so heavy and full of cum as he gently lifted them up and down teasingly.

In a swift move, Oliver pulled back and scooted down to suck on Marcus’ balls. Gently he sucked in one ball followed by the other, before swirling his tongue around both. They tasted slightly sweet and sour, with an intoxicating masculine scent that was just so _Marcus_ there was no way Oliver could ever imagine it on anyone else. The mixture of his cum with Marcus’ ball sweat from their day of Quidditch training made his cock impossibly harder.

Above him Marcus moaned, before moving himself backwards to push his cock back into Oliver's mouth. Moving his hand between Marcus’ balls and his sexy toned lower abs, they sped up. Marcus thrust hard and deep, grunting as he hit the back of Oliver’s throat, moving fast enough he didn’t really choke. He sucked as if his life depended on it, consumed by the overwhelming need to taste Marcus as he came. 

Abruptly Marcus grunted, and Oliver felt the first squirt of cum hit the back of his throat.

The floodgates opened and Marcus unleashed ropes of hot cum into his mouth. Oliver swallowed it greedily, moaning as warm thick liquid coated his throat and dripped down his lips. Gripping his own cock he stroked firmly, his whole body feeling like a melted mess on the grounds of Quidditch pitch where anyone could still walk by and see them. It was fucking _hot._ Oliver sped his hand up as he took the last of Marcus down the back of his throat, tasting him on his tongue.

Coming down from his orgasm, Marcus looked at Oliver with an odd expression on his face. Oliver thought back but he couldn’t recall seeing it before. Not even when Marcus breathed out an odd, “D—Damn.”

Whether it was the look on his face or the sound of his voice or the taste of his cum, Oliver didn’t know. Perhaps it was all three. But his second cumshot hit him like a tide that threatened to pull him under. Somehow far stronger than the first, it left Oliver feeling boneless and spent. 

Marcus moved back to his side and pulled Oliver up into a tight hug, supporting his full body weight as his knees buckled, boneless. He didn’t know how Marcus still had the stamina to stand. Sinking to the group he tugged Marcus down with him, who came willingly to the grass.

The ferocity remained but the anger had cleared in Marcus’ eyes - Oliver could feel the shift as the other man ran his hand through his hair, softly holding him. Saying nothing but promising so much with his touch, Oliver felt like he might break under the weight of it.

Marcus was saying, _‘Thank you. Love you. Give me time.’_

And Oliver had long learned the language because he used it too. Words weren’t needed when it came to how they felt about each other in moments like this. Just as time wasn’t a factor. They could just be.

The sun was slowly going down when Marcus started to loosen his grip ever so slightly. “We should probably clean up,” Oliver said, his voice still slightly hoarse, throat still dry even after a long while of cuddling. 

“Probably,” Marcus agreed, his voice still rough but calmer now. 

“Or we could just lay here,” Oliver offered cheekily.

“We could.” Marcus agreed, glancing up at the sky before back to Oliver, who offered him a small grin. “Maybe another year won’t be the end of the world.”

 _That_ made Oliver’s heart feel like it was about to burst out of his chest. “I get you for another year,” he whispered, closing his eyes, not daring to look into Marcus’ as he confessed that sentiment, trying and failing to not fall into the giddiness he felt at the prospect.

“Yeah. You do.” Marcus sighed, but Oliver could read the sincerity in his body language. It said _‘I’m here. I do care. You get me.’_ “Together, you said? You’ll help me and shit. Like, I know my parents are going to probably disown me-” 

Oliver snapped open his eyes at that, just as Marcus’ turned cloudy and upset again. The shadows in the other man’s gaze were unclear, painful even, like he couldn’t decide what his next play was. Oliver had seen him look more certain over school books and Quidditch schematics and Oliver fought the urge to gasp at the sight and bulk at the news. He was gripped with the need suddenly, to help solve it all for the other man. To try and plan out his future like he would a coordinated Quidditch play. But he didn’t know if it would be welcome or scoffed.

“...if I don’t pass this second time,” Marcus was saying. Somehow Oliver had missed the intro words and he refocused, vowing not to miss any more. “But I need to figure out what I _can_ do afterwards, you know? I’m too bloody shit to run the family business stuff - plus my older brother can fucking well handle that.” 

_Marcus has an older brother? How had that never come up?_ Oliver thought, but he had something far more important to say. Something that seemed so simple and obvious to him, that he couldn’t believe that he was going to have to spell it out. “Why are you questioning what happens after school?”

Marcus looked at him like he'd lost his mind.

“Fucking- Marcus. You’re going to play pro Quidditch. We both are.”

“Following my footsteps to glory, Wood?” Marcus mock-sneered, but it didn’t last long before the boys were exchanging grins.

“Never,” Oliver teased, “but it is the thing you know best. Hell it’s the thing _I_ know best. We’re both going to play until we die.”

Marcus pulled him in close, in the grass, and rested his head on top of Oliver’s. “Promise?”

It was such a vulnerable unexpected question, but Oliver found himself very sincere when he laced their fingers together and kissed his neck.

“I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are love ♥️ 
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://micheleblack.tumblr.com/)


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